The Selkie’s Daughter (4 page)

Rhys started to laugh, but stopped because it caused the wounds to ache more.  “And…
was
she?”

“I suppose some might call her that.  She was learned in herbs and worts, what it took to make a heart calm, or help with someone’s miseries.  People oft fear what they do no’ ken.”

He teased, “Tell me, are
you
a witch as well?”

She blinked once hard, as if he had backhanded her.  “I suppose there are those who will name me one.  Others likely say worse.”

“Why is that?”  Rhys wanted to know everything about her, why this gentle woman was hidden away in these dark woods.  It made no sense.  A man would fight for this woman, protect her, shelter her…
love her
. 

It was clear she struggled to put distance between them.  “Makes little difference what I be…you are saddled with me.  I shall do my best to treat the wounds.  Can you sit up?  I will help you.  I know ’tis painful, but I must remove the arrows––bolts.  ’Tis best to take off the mail, jack, and your shirt.”

With her support, Rhys managed to sit up and guide her to undoing the arming points in the heavy hauberk.  The boiled leather jack came off next.  Sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down his spine, and not from being close to the fire.  The pain from his wounds throbbed, growing more agonizing with each movement that he had to fight not to black out.

“I needs must slice the shirt off that shoulder.”  When he nodded, she cut the drawstring, then carefully used the sharp knife to rend the material apart until she reached where the damn staff stuck out.  “You are starting to bleed, now that your body warms.”

Rhys watched her face.  It distracted his mind from the discomfort.  His eyes traced the curve of her cheek, the stubborn chin, and graceful neck.  And lower.  Her body was thin, evidence of her hard life and perhaps not enough food at times, but her curves were womanly, her breasts were full.  Her living out here alone––if she was telling the truth––saw her vulnerable to anyone with evil intent.  If men such as those who had slaughtered his riders on the road, without regard to who they were or what they were doing in the area, found her, he shuddered to think what harm they would do to a woman with no way to defend herself.

He lifted his hand to the wound in the shoulder and pressed about the end of the shaft to determine the shape of the point.  The arrowhead felt blunt and not tipped bodkin or broadhead.  The others offered more penetration.  While not as piercing, the blunt tip delivered more shock to the target.  That was why the pain had traveled through his body with such a blinding agony when they hit.  As Providence would have it, the flat end would make extraction easier. 

He took her hand, intending to let her feel what she was dealing with, but she jumped, startled that he had touched her.  “’Tis all right, Annys.  I merely want you to feel the end of the bolt.”  Pulling her fingers to his shoulders, he moved her tips about the end of the shaft.  “Feel its shape?  It will leave a bigger hole, but it didn’t go as deep because ’tis dull on the end.  Unfortunately, when you pull the shaft out, the point will likely come off and remain embedded.  You will have to enlarge the wound and dig it out.  Can you do that?  I am not sure I can stay awake through the pain to do it myself.”

The color drained from her face.  “I will do what you need.”

“I shall try to help you.”  Rhys offered her a smile.  “Getting the arrowheads out is only part of it.  You will have to close the wound.  Stitching is one way, but that will cause the pus to form and it will be a hard battle to save my life then.  The sure way is to put hot iron to it.”

Her hand trembled under his.  “I have started a poultice of woad, yarrow, leeks, wild garlic and marigold.”  She bit down on the corner of her lip and then her eyes moved to the fire.  “And the iron poker is already heating.”

He closed his long fingers around her fist and gave it a small squeeze.  “I am not sure how I will give you thanks for all this.”

Annys finally offered him a small grin.  “You might not feel need for thanks by the time I am through torturing you.”  She stared at his face, the light of wonder filling her expression.  “You have Welsh eyes, Rhys de Valyer.  I saw a woman with pale amber eyes, once.  Hagatha said people from Wales have them.  I hope, after all is done, you will still look at me with the same warmth.”

“We are friends now––you and I.  Friends always keep each other in heartfelt regard.”  Rhys watched the sweep of her long lashes as the blush return to her cheeks.  There was a special quality, and aura about her that drew him.  Yes, she need never fear he would look upon her in any manner but in admiration.  “I need help getting out of the chausses and hose.”

Clearly, it just filled her thoughts that he would have to undress from the waist down as well.  Pulling her hand away from his, she gave a nod.  She scooted to his lower legs and removed the fur covering him.  Her deft fingers unknotted the cross-lacings on his boots and tugged them off.  That task complete, she hesitated, her mind clearly working out the best way to deal with the bolt in his hip.  He unbuckled the leathern chausses, and helped her slide them down.

He saw the hesitation on her face as she picked up the knife, knowing she would have to cut the material away.  There simply was no way around it.  “Apologies, but it needs must be done.  Have you seen a man without his clothes before, Annys?” he asked, fully expecting her to say she had not.

“Oh, aye.”

Her matter-of-fact answer took him by surprise.  Judging her reaction to him, he expected her to have little knowledge of men.  Hidden in the forest, away from the rest of the world, he had foreseen her to be a virgin, and innocent.  He could not help it.  Astonished, his brows lifted.

Her mouth compressed into a frown, as she waited for him to rotate onto his left hip, so she would have access to slice the material.  She concentrated on the cutting, being careful not to hurt him with the blade.  Feeling his eyes still on her, she finally looked up.  “Why do you stare at me so?  And do no’ start that blethering about me being beautiful.”

“I do not blether.  You
are
.  But that is not why I stare…or rather, that ’tis not the
only
reason I stare.”

“Then why?”

“For one, looking at you distracts me from the intense pain of having two shafts of wood protruding from my body.”

“And the other?”  She paused from cutting the material, and watched his face to see his emotions.

“I am wondering about you having seen an unclothed man.  You have to admit, being tucked away in the Forest of Rowenwood for––how old are you?”

“Hagatha said I have stayed for the passing of eleven summers.  I came when I was two and ten.”

“I just assumed with your solitary life with your friend Hagatha that there was little chance of you having dealings with men.  Am I wrong?”

“Let us keep mind upon handling the wounds.  Words get in the way.”

“’S’truth.  They get in the way of my pain.  Talk to me, Annys.  Drive the hurt away with your musical voice.”

That brought a small laugh from her.  “Methinks you sicken with fever and it addles your mind.  Such makes your tongue too free.”

Under the shield of the woolen cover and the fur throw, Rhys worked the hose the rest of the way off.  Despite her claim of having seen an unclad man, he figured it best to expose only what was necessary to treat the wounds.

“You wouldst deny a dying man a request?”  He was only jesting, but her eyes widened and the color, once more, drained from her face.

“Die?  You will no’ die,” she uttered softly.

He could not tell if she said that as a statement or a question.  “One never knows…if the wounds fester.  I have seen men succumb to infection.  ’Tis a warrior’s lot to fight and die.”

“And that is all?”

“All what?”

“You want nothing else of life?  Just fighting, killing or be killed?”

“’Tis not a matter of
want
.  You labor in service to your liege; he pays homage and fealty to the king.  The king decides on war, then you go to war.”  Rhys realized that they had a bond of commonalty.  While she was shielded from life and the ways of the world through being isolated in this forest, he was similarly cut off from living his own destiny due to his serving others.  “Mayhap, had I met someone such as you, I would have made time for something other than battle.”

Rising to her feet, she crossed to behind him, and then knelt by his exposed hip.  Her fingers trembled as she felt about the shaft, examining the bolt as he had showed her.  “I suppose you oft speak to women in such fashion.  Hagatha called them
courtly ways
, how men use words to turn women to their wishes.”

Rhys shook his head.  “A bent I never acquired.”  As her fingertips pressed harder, he winced.  The throbbing increased one hundred fold, pushing him toward blacking out.  To keep the darkness at bay, he focused on her.  “’Twas never enough time.  My lord king rules from the seat of his war saddle, not a throne.  Too much time is spent traveling to a foreign place, then preparing for a battle, and finally, trying to survive to see another dawn.”

“’Tis a sad sort of way to fill your days.  Is there naught that brings you joy?  You have a wife?  A lady?”  Her hand stilled on him, and she seemed not to draw a breath as she waited for his answer.

“No lady.  There is no one for me.”  Her cool hand on the flesh of his hip was causing another
pain
to come to life.  Desire thrummed in his blood, so strong it nearly blotted the pain from his mind.  Despite the suffering he was experiencing from two arrows embedded in him, he responded to her. 
He wanted her
.  In spite of barely knowing her, the vision guided his emotions, convincing him that she was the one he had waited for his whole life.  This woman called to him on many levels.  He shifted the covers to give him a bit more protection across his groin.  “As I said, I have spent a big portion of my time being a warrior.  The rest of my days I train destriers.  It takes a great deal of time to prepare a horse to fight alongside his master.  Even longer to teach the knight to bond with his horse.  They have to move and think as one.  It’s why a good warhorse is valued so highly.”

“Rhys, the arrow point is hard against your hipbone.  It did not penetrate or shatter the bone, but I fear there might be a bone chip.  I will have to remove the tip and then feel if there are pieces floating about in your muscle.  The shoulder will be easier to treat, since it did not strike bone.  Your mail turned the path of the bolts.  They got through the slits, but not with full force.  Which one do you want me to do first?”

“Hip first.  It will take longer and hurt the most.  By the time you do the shoulder, I likely will not feel anything for I will be in too much agony already.”

“I have some wine, if that will help?” she suggested.

“I could brag that I am brave and do not need it, but it would be a lie.  Yes, wine would help.”

She fetched him a cup, and watched him drink it down.  “I can do what you need.  Remove the bolts, get the tips out and check for bone fragments.  Afterward, I will paint the wounds with the woad mix to staunch the bleeding.  Last, I put the iron to the gashes to cauterize them.  As I said, I have never done this before.  How long does one keep the iron in place?”

“Put it there and say my full name three times.”

She gave a brief nod, while she bit down slightly on her lower lip.  “It seems a long time.”

“It shall
feel
like a long time.”  Rhys hoped he did not cry out and appear weak before this woman, have her think him a coward.

“I have a mix of honey and other herbs like willow and yarrow that I will used to soothe the burns.  Is there aught else I can do to make this easier for you?”

Rhys handed her the cup and then took her hand, pulling her down on the pallet on her knees.  “Yes…this.”

He took hold of her chin and tilted her head slightly to the side, and then brushed his lips against hers.  He heard the hiss of her breath draw in, caught it under his mouth.  His heart jumped in his chest, thundering painfully against his ribs.  His body pulsed hard, pushing him to claim this special woman, make her his own.  Only, there was the matter of the bolts that needed to be removed. 

Reluctantly, Rhys released her, but then smiled when he saw the expression of wonder upon her face.  “Is that your first kiss, Annys?”

She touched the fingertips of her left hand to her mouth, as if trying to capture the magic, to make it linger a little longer.  The hand trembled as a mixture of emotions flooded her lovely countenance.  “No…I have been kissed before.”

When Annys said she’d seen a man without his clothing previously, Rhys assumed she meant from a distance.  A kiss could only be given and received in closeness.  This turn piqued his curiosity.  It also caused a foreign sensation to burn in the pit of his belly.  For several heartbeats, he tried to name the unsettling surge of bile snaking through him, then it dawned on him––he was jealous!

Ignoring the questions in his eyes, Annys took hold of the shaft sticking out from his hip and pulled.  Rhys fleetingly forgot about the primitive feelings pulsing through his blood, and gave a groan.